We planted flowers. They grew up tall and strong and wove together so tightly that the leaves and blossoms cut off the light, and we lived in darkness.
We dug at the roots, we sawed at the stems, we fought through the tangled leaves, until we collapsed, exhausted, and we slept.
One day the wind pulled the dead petals from above us. It pulled the dead leaves next, and showed the sky through thin brown stems. We picked a path through them, towards the gray day, remembering the scent and the color of flowers, and the buzzing of bees beside us.